Page 11 of An Angel's Share
A noise wakes me,and I struggle to figure out what it was. These days I sleep so lightly, it could have been anything. I’m praying it’s not Liam. He’s tried to talk me into sex. Not a chance that’s happening. I’m putting him off, feigning pains down below.
The harsh truth is I just don’t fancy the man. He does nothing for me. Not even my raging hormones have been interested in him. Also, I need to fully focus on our firm, and be laser sharp on my business goals. Have this baby and then dump him. If he doesn’t make it to the birth and needs to be ousted first, so be it.
I also lock my door. Pretend I sleep so deeply I don’t hear a thing. But that’s not true, and now fully awake I can identify the sound easily. Someone is walking down the hall. Probably one of my cousins making their way to bed.
It’s after 2 a.m. They sure know how to party. With or without me.
Swinging my legs out of bed, I hoist myself up and headfor the door. My strappy PJ vest top feels so soft on my skin, but it’s stretching tight over my enlarged breasts. They’re definitely growing in size, almost daily. I’ve never really had any serious cleavage, and whilst I’m excited about how they look, and am loving the feel of them, they are super sensitive. My matching shorts—I get so hot these days—pull flush over my buttocks as my stomach stretches them to the maximum. I feel they may be on their last few wears.
I look at myself in the mirror as I pass. My mammy is right about one thing. From the back, you can’t tell I’m pregnant. From the side, though? Oh boy, am I large, the roundness of my tummy clearly evident. I love it. I’m carrying the baby all in front and just on my stomach.
I rub and touch my baby, completely in love with him or her. I haven’t found out. I tell the baby every day how much I love them already.
Thoughts of the baby’s daddy infiltrate my mind. Should I tell him? I close my eyes, still not believing he’s here. How can that be? It was a one-off, my friend from university dragging me to a celebrity event for a laugh. She’d got tickets via her work place—some film company she was involved with. My mantra of breaking the rules, not listening to any form of convention, going with the flow, making sure you experience everything life has to offer, was in my mind when I agreed to it. Now look at me. In a serious pickle.
My friend had clearly been there before, a few times by the sounds of it. She pointed out the tall, muscular, athletic British man. Rolling her eyes in excitement as she told me what she’d heard about his reputation when my fake name was called.
The night was a total eye-opener. The man had the looks of a god, and the manners of the devil in the bedroom. Well,I say bedroom lightly. It was a well appointed room in a very established sex club. Every touch, lick, suck, nip, whip was thought out. All designed to inflict pain, but oh my days, the total unadulterated pleasure.
He was a master in that room. And even though I was a thirty-year-old single woman, who had dated many times, lived life to the fullest, I felt like a total novice. But he encouraged me to open up and try different things, all of which I loved.
I could not get them out of my mind for months afterwards. The condom breaking in a complete haze of passion, that I think even surprised him. I definitely got the impression when I was leaving that he wanted to maybe see me again. But then again, maybe he was like that with everyone. Afterall, my friend had heard of him. His reputation was well-known.
He’d said he was there occasionally. And maybe I wanted to think he wanted to see me again, as I was so special. I’d felt the connection we’d had was off the charts. He told me he’d not felt that with anyone else. I believed him. I’d wanted to believe him, believe it.
I’ve not been with anyone else since him. Liam was in the states at the same time as me, and that ended up being a convenient cover story my mother insisted I use. But I don’t love Liam, never have. At times, I don’t even like him. He is a means to an end.
I know how cold that sounds. But my plan has always been to have the baby, then extricate myself from the silly engagement. I knew it would be hard from the start. Once she found out, Mammy was in a determined mood. And Daddy was ill. I really did not want to rock the boat.
I wanted them settled as much as they wanted me to be. Especially my daddy. He’s amazing, and I love him with allmy heart. Kind and considerate, he’s pushed me to be the best I could be, whilst totally supporting any choices I made, good or bad. He’s never looked disappointed in me, even when I announced my pregnancy to them.
Mammy cried of course. What would people say? How could she face her Dublin friends? They all had ‘normal’ daughters. Daddy just stood and smiled at me, supporting me like always.
Well I’m not going to let him down. Never. Not going to happen. Patrick, my so-called fiancé Liam, and Co had better get ready.
I've been dealingwith Patrick and Conor my whole life. We grew up together in Killclery House, this big old estate sheltering us all.
My grandmother Dervla O’Clery had rejuvenated the whiskey business that had been floundering for a number of years, nearly going out of existence in the early 1900s. But Dervla, with her husband Seamus—my family were not over imaginative on names—had brought it back with a vengeance. She was a visionary really, trading on the fact that we could trace every ingredient right through from the growers of the barley to the person who bottled the batch. She was selling the family business, the family connections and personal touches, not just whiskey.
It doesn’t escape me that Marshall was Dervla’s only son to move away. And that was thirty plus years ago. It was a move that perplexed everyone in the family. O’Clerys did not move away. They stayed put and grafted for the greater good of the family. It makes so much sense now, though. It was because of his daughter. Maybe Dervla’s sense of familyties was a stronger inheritance in him than his ties to the whiskey.
And maybe the spirit of Dervla runs as strong in him as Granda Healey in me. I’d gone away, dreamed of America, maybe a life in academia. But the call of family was too strong. In the same way that Marshall is here to help and support the family, I’ve turned my back on all my other dreams and focused in onO’Clerys.Maybe that is the real O’Clery legacy. Strong women leading the line. Innovation in the business, being fearless.
Well I’m certainly prepared to be all that and more. I know what it will take to bring our whiskey back from the brink. Like Dervla before me, I have the vision, and the ruthless determination to see it through.
All this is wandering through my mind as I enter the kitchen. I pad across to the fridge, pulling open the double-fronted silver monstrosity someone decided to buy. Well okay, it suits me at the moment as there’s always a tasty snack to be had, and my night eating has gotten a little out of hand.
A chunk of ham in my fist, I’m just about to bite into it, sandwich be damned, when his voice rings out from the other end of the kitchen. I was so focused on the fridge, I never noticed him in the darkened corner. He steps out of the shadows like some angelic demon. The sort sent to seduce you before you realise you’re doomed.
“Miss Roulette, fancy meeting you here.”
Velvet chocolate, smooth and silky. Oh holy shit, that decadent voice is pouring over me, bewitching my senses. And I need every ounce of sense to deal with him as this is not going to be comfortable. For either or us. How am I going to explain it? Dump this on a man who hasn’t asked for it, didn’t want it.
Well, the easy answer is I won’t. I’ll shirk it. I’ve already committed to sticking to the lie. He’ll be gone before he knows the truth, and I can still dump Liam and carry on with my plans unaltered.
Me. Baby.O’Clerys.Perfection.
He stalks towards me, the ultimate predator. It’s in the way he moves, almost cat-like. Just waiting for you to run, hoping that you do, then he’ll strike. My body, however, decides it likes it. Likes being prey. It starts to throb, my lady parts pumping out a tune louder than any DJ taking that stand tonight. I think he must surely hear. Clearly I have a kink. And he knows it.
